seemed that the girl must perceive the faint shade of dismay that passed over his face.
"I think you are mistaken," said the pitcher, breaking the silence at last.
King laughed.
"You think so! Really? Then perhaps you will deny that you were there?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I deny it."
"Do you mean to say you were not there?"
"I was not there."
Swiftly lifting his hand, Benton pointed a level, accusing finger like a pistol at Locke's face.
"Perhaps," he cried, "you will make an additional denial. Perhaps you will deny that you are Paul Hazelton, of Princeton?"
Janet leaned forward, her hands clasped, her blue eyes full of suspense. So much depended on the forthcoming answer! If he were to confess that he had been named by King, she felt that henceforth she must hold him in disdain as being all that Benton had asserted he was. But if he should deny it—His lips parted to reply:
"Most certainly I deny it! I am not Paul Hazelton, of Princeton."
The girl uttered a little cry of joyous relief:
